Harry Odd Thomas and The Sorcerers Stone
by BlackRain88
Summary: What kind of life might Harry Potter might have lived if Bellatrix killed him as a baby and he was reincarnated. Meet Harry Odd Thomas. He leads quite an interesting life... A crossover by which I don't think you have seen before...
1. Meet Harry Odd Thomas

**(Must Read)**

**Authors Note: In this universe, for the purpose of the crossover, ghosts can't be seen by most people. I have decided to make a cross-over of Harry Potter with my other favorite series in the world, the "Odd Thomas" series. This combination, to my delight, is extremely rare. In fact, I am proud to say that I have not run across any other story like this. YAY! Tell me what you think.**

Hello, my name is Harry Odd Thomas. I lead an interesting life. Not to say my life is interesting than yours. I'm sure your life is filled with enough joy, happiness, and fear as you could wish for. After all, we are all human, and we both know how much of a terror _that_ can be. By this I simply mean to say that my life is peculiar. Now, I'm sure that, as much as I hope you will forget about me by the time I publish this, the chances of that are very unlikely. Unlike my lucky father, you people see me as somewhat of a celebrity.

One of the reasons I am so strange is that I am the reincarnation of one Harry James Potter. Now, the dead of my first life is strangely NOT because Voldemort came to my house and "Avada Kedavra'ed" my old parents and I. When he aimed the spell at me, as everyone knows, it rebounded off of my forehead and hit him. I suppose that is what he gets for trying to kill a baby. I wish I could have seen that mans' face. Anyway, I died because his crazy follower, Bellatrix Lestrange, drove a knife into my heart upon hearing of her lords' death. How ironic, that the most "powerful" Dark Lord of all time couldn't kill me, but an ordinary crazy lady permanently PMSing could. Oh well, that's life.

Now, instead of just dying and getting it over with, my baby corpse burst into flames and my spirit flew into the pregnant belly of a Seer. Another Seer, a non-pregnant one, sat on the spot where my corpse one lay and announced in front of all the gathering Arours and public that I would be reborn into another body where a Seer awaits to find me a father. What an inconsiderate lady.

That is where my parents came into play. While it may surprise you, my parents were never intimate with each other. My father, Odd Thomas, has only one love, Stormy. He will be reunited with her when he passes on… I hope that this any time soon. I mean, I don't have anything against my father reuniting with the love of his live, but I love my dad. He's a fun guy, and, to be quite frank, I'd feel more than a little edgy if I were left all alone in this world with my mom. I love the woman dearly, but she's a little insane. Not nearly the type of insane that Bellatrix Lestrange is, but insane none-the-less. My mother, Annamaria, is a Seer, which alone should prove to you that she is crazy. She predicted my death and performed a ritual to make her pregnant until a man agreed on his magic to father the child. After the agreement, the woman goes into labor and a baby is born. My mother knew my father and, after he saved hundreds of muggles and, no doubt, wizards from going BOOM, asked my father to agree to be the father of the baby inside of her. Not quite knowing what was going on, he agreed to help raise the child, and his magic added his DNA to her womb and she instantly went into labor.

Then, my father got one of the biggest shocks of his life. He was a wizard, a muggleborn to be more exact. His parents hadn't told him of this because when he got his Hogwarts letter, his parents really didn't care enough to send him. His parents weren't very good at being parents. I mean, his mother threatened him with a gun for gods' sake. Now, why was he chosen to be the father of the Boy-Who-Lived? Well, I don't know. He's an interesting guy too. Where did you think I inherited the get-into-really-weird-situations gene? I'm sure you are all shocked to know that I have no better answer to the question the entire wizarding population has been puzzling over. In fact, I'm quite sure that more than a few of you have no-doubt fainted. I can only hope that none of you have died of shock over my revelation. No, on second thought, I take that back. Draco Malfoy, if you are reading this, that rule doesn't apply to you. Please die.

My father and I share another talent that makes our lives interesting. We see dead people. Some souls, when they die, cannot move on. They often turn to us for assistance, and sometimes what they want requires us to dive into strange life-or-death situations for justice. They are limited in their help, because the dead don't talk. We don't know why, so don't ask. My father did not wish for the gift. In fact, he would be happy to live his life as nothing more than an ordinary muggle fry-cook, or a tire-sales-man, a shoe-measuring-guy, or one of those police officers that put tickets under windshield-wipers in parking-lots. I, for one, would love to be just an ordinary boy with no greater ambition in life than to make fluffier pancakes then my dad, a feat which I have not yet accomplished, and follow him into any of the previous lines of work mentioned. Once again, if you are reading this Draco Malfoy, you are welcome, even _encouraged_ to die of shock any time you'd like.

I am currently writing this manuscript behind the barred windows of a locked room on a street called Privet Drive. I am writing this for two reasons. The first reason is because I am terribly bored and have nothing else to do; my wand and other things are locked in a cupboard. The second reason is to stop the public from attempting to write idiotic un-truthful autobiographies. This will not be published any time soon however, if at all.

Now, where do I start?

**AU: Well, where would you like the next chapter to take place, at the platform in Diagon Alley? I will take your choices into consideration.**


	2. Meet Malfoy

Here is the second chapter. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Not mine

Summary: Isn't that why you decided to read the story? If so, then why repeat it?

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I suppose I should start at the platform. Hogwarts is a funny school. You get a letter that tells you to go to Platform 9 ¾, but does not inform you HOW to get to such a place. I suppose they assume that everyone will automatically know that spontaneously running like a suicidal idiot at the barrier between 9 and 10 will magically transport you onto the platform instead of crashing into a brick barrier as all normal human logic would imply. I don't know, maybe that's just because I've been mostly raised in the muggle world. I suppose that running into seemingly solid objects is a normal thing in the wizarding world. Or maybe they all suffer some sort of brain damage and tend to run into every solid thing they come across for no good reason, so they figure that by making the entrance way a solid brick thing, the wizards would find their way onto it eventually.

Perhaps it's just wizard logic. Maybe they were taught some abstract sort of logic, something that makes them go "Hmmm, I wonder where the platform is. There's platform 9… there's platform 10… AHAH! I know; it must be that barrier between the platforms. That's it! I'll run into that seemingly solid brick to get there. If it fails, I'll crash and most likely break a few bones, not to mention look like an idiot, but who cares? Spells can heal those broken bones in a jiffy, so why NOT risk breaking them?"

Anyway, for us wizards with muggle logic, like me and my dad(my mom had to stay home to do… something. I don't really want to know), there are always big loud, red-headed families shouting out about muggles for the world to hear. I'm sure that they don't suppose that while they shout out "muggles", the muggles shout out "asylum". Either way, by asking the loud and ignorant family of red-heads, we got onto the platform, where I met a ghost. The poor muggle already suffered from stress, high blood-pressure, and heart problems when he accidently fell through the barrier between 9 and 10 and had a heart attack.

Jonas Biggley was a confused looking spirit. He wondered around the platform, clearly in distress, wondering what in the world was happening around him. Now, I suppose that when you think about ghosts, you expect them to be corporeal and float around. This is not the case. They look as real as you and me, at least to my eyes, and their touch is warm and solid like any living person would feel. They can touch me, hug me, and make contact with my person, but they cannot hurt me in any way. The only type of spirit that can harm someone is a poltergeist. Their anger, misery, and frustration build up a dark energy around them and they use it to move objects around and create winds. They don't hurt people intentionally, but if a flying desk accidently crushes your skull by _accident_, it unfortunately doesn't make you any less _dead_.

Now, with this information, I'm sure you wonder how I knew that the man I am speaking of was indeed a ghost and not just some confused looking guy. Well, my dad got me a very useful book for my birthday from a rare book store, "The Haunts of Hogwarts". Wizards, unlike muggles, know for a fact that ghosts exist and very rare individuals have ways of telling who haunts certain places. They can't see them and know little to nothing about them, but through some complicated magic, they know they are there. "The Haunts of Hogwarts" had the names and pictures of the ghosts that died at or around Hogwarts. Under each picture was a brief history of who they were, how they died, and a speculation of why they are there. It was VERY useful. I keep it on me at all times, well, except for now. It's locked in the cupboard under the stairs, unfortunately.

Jonas looked like he had been a normally cheery fellow in life. In fact, his biography said he was aspiring to be an actor, specializing in comedic plays. He was a friendly-looking somewhat-chubby man with bouncy brown hair and wide blue eyes. I smiled at him and he ran over to me and my dad in distress. That's another thing; ghosts seem to know that my dad and I could sense them. Even if I hadn't smiled at him, he would have known. He waved his arms back and forth in front of me and my dad and moved his mouth in what would have been speech if any sound would have escaped him.

I looked around me to see if anyone was watching. People were of course, I was the flipping boy-who-lived. I think a girl in the direction I smiled at thought the facial expression was directed at her and fainted. I smacked my forehead and shook my head at the distressed spirit. He frowned and silently sighed, deflated. Dad looked between me and the ghost and smiled, nodding at the spirit and bending down to give me a hug. I hugged him back tightly, wishing he was able to come with me.

My dad and I were rarely apart and we've been through so much together. Life-threatening experiences really bring two people together. As I hugged him by the train station I remembered the time we were tied up together on railroad tracks in the desert, prey to either hungry coyotes or train that was due to squish us in a half hour. Anyway, back to the situation at hand. As my dad hugged me, he whispered in my ear so that no one else could hear.

"Good luck with that one. He will be the first one you deal with on your own."

"I don't want to do _anything_ without you, Dad. I wish you could come."

"You'll see me soon enough. Who knows? Maybe you'll end up having so much fun; you won't want to come home when the time comes."

"_Never_!" I hugged him tighter. "I'll miss you Dad."

He squeezed tighter as well. "I'll miss you too son."

Then he let go and sent me off to the train. Although I didn't want to leave him, I needed to find an empty compartment to talk to Jonas. If he was going to move on, he needed to be told about the wizarding world and how he died. I had a feeling he lingered because he needed to understand fully what happened to him and accept it before being at peace enough to move on.

With any luck, he would have followed my dad instead of me. Ah, but it was not to be, he looked between me and my dad as I left and then, seeing me struggle to get my trunk onto the train, ran after me. He stopped next to me and attempted to help me with my trunk, which was really nice of him, but was reminded that he couldn't lift physical objects when his hand went right through. Thankfully, two of the red-heads I had met earlier walked by and offered to lift the trunk onto the train.

After that, I walked through the aisles of the train to find an empty compartment. It took a while, but eventually I found one towards the back of the train. I sighed in relief and dragged my trunk into the compartment and waited for Jonas to walk in before shutting the door. He might be able to walk through walls, but it was still better to be polite. He sat down across from me and twiddled his thumbs nervously, opened his mouth, and then closed it again, remembering that no sound would come out anyway. I thought a minute on how best to approach the subject before speaking.

"This is the wizarding world."

He only looked more confused.

"Well… you're a muggle so you wouldn't know about it."

He mouthed the word I assumed was "muggle" in confusion, looking at me as if I had grown an extra head.

"Uhm… It means you aren't magic. You see, there are wizards in the world. These people do magic with wands and cast spells. Now, of course, wizards hide their existence from non magical people.

"If they didn't, they would react in fear, hate, and greed. They would try to find ways to make us use our magic to help them all the time and create laws to enslave us. Their fear and greed might eventually lead to them killing us off.

"Now, since we want to stay alive, we hide our existence. We have our own government and magical schools. When you stumbled through what looked like a brick barrier, it was actually the entrance to a train-station leading to a magical school called 'Hogwarts'."

He stared at me blankly, trying to process everything I just told him, still looking upset and confused. I didn't blame him. I flipped through my book and found his page.

"If it makes you feel any better, after you died, they put up charms to prevent muggles from stumbling through it again…"

He nodded absentmindedly and stood up to take a walk. He seemed to need some time alone to process everything he just discovered. He waved at me distantly with one hand and walked through the wall to my compartment. Just as he walked out, one of the boys from red-headed family walked in. He was tall, freckled, and had a smudge of dirt on his nose.

"Uhm, do you mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full."

"No, go ahead."

He dragged his trunk in and sat right where my new ghostly companion was sitting only moments before. I smiled at him and paged through my book.

"So… You're Harry Potter." He said after a few minutes.

"Well, no. I _was_ Harry Potter in a past life, but now my name is Harry Odd Thomas. You can call me Odd, or Little Odd as people who know my dad call me."

"Odd?"

"Yes Odd, it's my father's name." I smiled brightly, full of pride at having my dad's name as a middle name, and even more pride at being called Odd most of the time. You see, I want nothing to do with being called 'Harry', the name that people hold in fame, so people call me Odd, Little Odd, Odd One, Little Odd One, Oddie, or Little Oddie instead. I love people calling me by my dads' name. It gives me a sense of pride.

Apparently, the boy didn't think so. "Odd?"

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes, Odd. Now, since you already know my name, how about telling me yours?"

"Oh, I'm Ron. Ron Weasley!" He grinned and held out a hand, which I shook awkwardly.

"Nice to meet you Ron," I said. It was true, believe it or not. The boy might be a little annoying and hero-worshipy, but he was a nice enough kid. After that, we sat in silence for a good while, before Ron spoke again.

"So… do you really have the… scar?"

"Unfortunately, why?"

"Can I… can I see it?"

I sighed in frustration and brushed back the hair across my forehead to let him see the lightning-bolt scar that followed me like a thorn at my side into my second life. Just then, a girl with bushy brown hair walked in.

"Has anyone seen a- Hey! You're Harry Potter."

"Nope," I said. It was getting annoying when people still called me Harry Potter when they _know_ I was reincarnated.

The girl got a confused look. "No? But you have the famous curse scar! You got that from surviving the killing curse from You-Know-Who?"

"Oh yes, this thing…" I dropped my hand from my hair, letting it fall to cover up the red lightning-bolt again. "Yes, I have it."

"So you _are_ Harry Potter."

"No, I'm Harry Odd Thomas."

"Oh yes, you were reincarnated. Well, nice you meet you Harry, I'm Hermione Granger."

I shook her hand and grinned. "Call me Odd or Little Odd."

"Why would you want to be called Odd?"

"Because it's my dad's name."

"Oh…"

Then, a blond-haired boy whom I have grown to know and hate burst through the door with his two troll-like excuses for student body-guards.

Oh, look Malfoy, it's you! If you haven't unfortunately died of shock yet, feel free to let your already big head inflate even more at being mentioned in the biography of the famous Harry Potter. Ah, yes, let it swell with every word you read about yourself and, with any luck, your head might just become so big, it will explode all over the pages of my written words and shower them with your blood. By all means Draco Malfoy, do the world a favor and rid me a rival by letting your head get even bigger and explode. It would mean so much to me! Oh, sorry folks, I got a little excited there. Uhm… let's get back to the story, shall we?

I looked over at the annoying sod and instantly remembered him from earlier in Madam Malkins as I was getting fitted for school robes.

_I looked around the shop and stood on the stool next to a blond-haired boy with a rather pointed face and aristocratic look about him. The madam slipped a long black robe over my head and started to pin it._

"_Hello," the boy said in a rather bored air "Hogwarts too?"_

"_No, I'm just getting a robe pinned here at the time before school starts for no reason at all."_

_The thing about my sarcasm is, I'm really too good at it. People tend to take what I say seriously. For example, someone could say it is raining and when I respond saying "No, really? That's rain? I thought it was pixie dust!" they will think I'm being serious. In fact, I said that very thing to a rather nasty looking lady that had me and my dad tied up and held hostage at gun-point one summer. She thought I was serious, screamed at me for being stupid, and shot me. I still have the scar from the bullet. Anyway, the boy gave me a strange look before rambling about things that I could have lived without knowing or caring._

"_My father's next door buying my books and my mother's up the street looking at wands…"_

"_Well, she can look all she wants; you don't exactly have a choice at what wand you get… 'It's the wand that chooses the wizard' I said in an imitation of Ollivander's voice."_

_The boy continued on as though he didn't hear me. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one-"_

_I cut him off. "_**Drag**_ off your parents?! _**Bully**_ your father?! Good luck with that. You'll be lucky if you don't get slapped for attempting such a thing. You'll be lucky if you even _**get**_ a broom."_

"_Shut up! What do you know anyway?"_

"_Well, I for one know that your father isn't just some kid you can bully around. He's your __**father**__ and he'll probably punish you for cheek."_

_I didn't like the boy, he was stuck up and a bully no less._

"_Well, anyway. I'm great at Quidditch, much better than the likes of __**you.**__"_

"_You don't even know me!"_

"_My father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say I agree."_

"_Well then, I suppose I'd be arrested if I was your captain, because I'd never pick some idiot who thinks they can __**bully their father**__. Just imagine if you were a seeker! The snitch would probably flutter right behind your head and you wouldn't even know it."_

"_SHUT UP YOU! Do you know who my father is?!"_

"_Oh, you mean the one you want to bully?"_

"_That's enough boys or I'll throw you both out of my shop!" Madam Malkin shouted._

_The blond idiot seemed to calm down. "Do you know what house you would be in if you went to Hogwarts?" He really thought I wasn't going. Like I said my sarcasm…._

"_Why are you still talking to me?!" Really, I didn't understand it. I obviously didn't like him, and he obviously didn't like me. Oh well, I heard boredom makes people do weird things. He must have been bored out of his mind._

"_I'll be in Slytherin, that's for sure."_

"_I suppose I'd be in Gryffindor." I said just to spite him._

_He looked at me disgustedly and __**FINALLY**__ shut up._

Remembering the idiot then, I grimaced at him.

"Is it true? They're saying all down the train that Harry potter is in this compartment. So it's you, is it? Wait a minute… You said you weren't coming to Hogwarts!"

"Oh for goodness sakes! It's called _sarcasm_, and Harry Potter is not in this compartment or on this train at all."

"Liar! You _are_ Harry Potter."

"No I'm not."

The arrogant blond reached forward and pulled my hair away from my forehead. "Yes you are, you have the scar to prove it!"

"Harry Potter died years ago. My name is Harry Odd Thomas and I'm his reincarnation. Why do you people insist on calling me Harry Potter?! It's not my name anymore!"

"My name is Malfoy, _Draco_ Malfoy." Ah, a name to go with that annoying face.

Ron snickered and Malfoy whipped his head around and glared at him.

"Think my names funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me that all Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children then they can afford."

"You mean that out of the whole wizarding world, the Weasleys are the only freckled red haired poor people? Wow Ron, your family is unique."

Ron laughed a little at that and Malfoy fumed. "Serves you right for making assumptions Malfoy," Ron snickered. "I guess he wouldn't be able to tell the Weasleys from the Prewetts, my moms' family."

Malfoy turned sharply to look at me. "You'll find out that some wizarding families are much better than others Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held out a hand and I shook my head and laughed in his face.

"I can't believe you! First off, you are rude to me in the robe shop, and in here. I clearly don't like you. You brag about wealth and have the nerve to say you can bully your father-"

Ron burst out laughing at this.

"Then you insult my new friend here and basically offer me a choice. I can either continue my friendship with him, a boy who has so far been nice to me, or hang around your pompous ass. Why don't you just get out of here Malfoy, no one wants you here. Oh, and it's Thomas to you Malfoy, or Odd if you must."

Malfoy growled and turned a faint pinkish color. "I'd be careful if I were you Potter-"

"_Thomas_"

"Unless you're a bit politer-"

"Oh, we have a hypocrite! Don't talk about me being impolite when you yourself act rude and snotty. Now grab your cronies and get out!"

"Oh, but we don't feel like leaving, do we boys? We see this girl here has a chocolate frog and I want it." Draco grabbed the open chocolate frog right out from Hermione's hands.

I smirked. "Oh, well, if you really want to…"

Malfoy smirked back. "Oh, I think I do." He took a big bite.

"Ah… shame about that. You see, Ron's rat here…" I pointed to the rat.

"Scabbers," Ron supplied.

"Right, you see, Scabbers there took a piss on that chocolate a little before you came in. Hermione was going to throw it out, but if you don't mind eating urine-marinated chocolate…"

Malfoy spit out the chocolate and ran out of the room, horrified, probably looking for a 7th year to spell his mouth clean. We all laughed as he left.


	3. Meet The Sorting Hat

Diclaimer: Odd Thomas is not mine, neither is Harry Potter.

This chapter is dedicated to DracoStarbo, my motivation to continue writing this and my sole reviewer. Enjoy!

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I swear, with the way everyone calls me Harry Potter, I wouldn't have been surprised at the sorting if they called out "Potter, Harry". Thankfully, whoever wrote the roll-call wasn't a complete idiot because they called out "Thomas, Harry". And this name, predictably, caused a major reaction amongst hero-worshipping fans.

"Harry Odd Thomas?!" Yes, it seemed that some people actually DID remember my name! How exciting!

"That's Harry Potter!!" For goodness sakes idiots, the roll call said THOMAS, HARRY! Get a clue!

"See his scar?!"

"It's him! He's really here at Hogwarts!"

"It's The-Boy-Who-Lived!"

I'm jealous of my dad for not having to deal with this fame crap. He can walk down a wizarding street and no one would care, but if I walk down a wizarding street, I'm surrounded by people who either worship me or want to kill me. And it's not like I'm some scrawny midget. I'm healthy and rounded, of average height, and properly taken care of, so that causes a whole other kind of problem. People think I'm… cute…

I don't understand why people, especially women, want to cuddle and pinch the cheeks of unsuspecting 11-year-olds. I am hugged and awed at by random female strangers every day. Seriously, I wonder if these types of people are human sometimes, or if they think I'm not human. They treat me like some kind of animal. I'm not a puppy, I'm a human being. Please don't cuddle me if I don't know you. It's very uncomfortable and awkward.

Also, to you hero-worshipers, leave me the hell alone! I don't know what kind of person you think I am, but I don't like greeting a hundred strangers a minute. I'm an 11-going-on-12 year old boy! I don't have the attention span to say hello to everyone and keep a smile on my face. I. Have. A. Life. Honestly, what other 11-12 year old boys do you know that like to say hello to millions of people a day? Let me tell you something about my age group. We don't care for introductions! We like to run around and create ruckus. We wrestle with each other, run around, and jump all over each other. We are hyper and at times are utter nasty brats! It is our right to be rude and irresponsible at this age. Anyone who expects more from us is an ignorant idiot.

So, knowing all of this, why would you expect an 11-12 year old to greet several people a day like an adult? If you say hello and express how wonderful it is to meet me, don't blame me for acting uninterested and/or rude! You are probably the 20th person to greet me in the past 10 minutes and I want to get the hell away from all of you people to just run off and have some fun already! Everyone always greets me like I'm the Minister of Magic, unless you are one of the female kid-cuddlers. Okay, I survived the killing curse, but I don't remember it! I don't know what the hell I did! I was a year old for gods' sake. It was probably some sort of freak accident. Get over it! Blame him! He's the idiot who got instant karma for trying to kill a baby. Why don't you go and talk to his grave or something and tell him how pleased you are to meet HIM! Oh wait, he doesn't have a grave… he just sort of went boom, didn't he? Oh… well… you get the point! Stop thanking me for something I don't even remember doing. It's PATHETIC!

So, anyway, back to the sorting. Did I mention I felt a little wary of putting that thing on my head? I mean, a bunch of kids just wore that hat. What if one of them had lice? I don't know if wizards get it, though I don't see why not. I mean, even animals get lice, why shouldn't wizarding children get it too? They have hair! Which reminds me, how do they treat lice in the wizarding world? I haven't heard of treatment for lice… Do they just leave it there? Do they know it exists? What if the entire wizarding world has lice because of their ignorance!? Do they even check for lice here? I saw quite a few other people, probably muggleborns looking wary of putting the hat on as well.

Speaking of muggleborns, I wondered how they knew how to get to Hogwarts anyway? To my knowledge, they just send letters! What muggle in their right mind would automatically believe that they are a witch or wizard just because a letter told them so? I mean, how would YOU feel if you got a letter… saying you were really a time-traveling frog or something?

Oh wait, you're a wizard, you'd probably believe it. God, wizards must be easy to prank. I wonder how many wizards would jump off a cliff if they were told they could fly. Probably a great many, considering that they believe a simple letter to muggles would convince them their kid is a witch or wizard and to come to Hogwarts. Wizards are so gullible…

Also, when I looked at what were probably muggleborns, I wondered how the hell they got onto the platform. I mean, what muggle in their right mind could figure out that running into a brick wall gets you to The Hogwarts Express? I mean, to most muggles, brick walls are solid, no exceptions. Brick wall + people=OW! Perhaps the reason Muggleborns get such a large reputation for being stupid is because most of the LOGICAL ones never get to Hogwarts. Hermione probably came upon it over the millions of books she read before coming to Hogwarts. Hold on, how did she find Diagon Alley?! It's not like that letter gives out instructions. Geez, I have to ask her this when I get back to school and out of this hell-hole called number 4 Privet Drive.

Anyway, back to the hat that looked like it was last disinfected in 1875. It didn't help that my last name ends with T, which is pretty far along in the alphabet. I hoped that I wouldn't get any of Malfoy's residue gel stuck in my hair since he went a while before me. Oh well, at least the hat didn't stay on his head for very long. Maybe the hat didn't feel comfortable getting gel stuck all over it either… So when my name was called, I tried to ignore the annoying comments and the stares similar to those muggle children would give Super Man if he were to appear, and put that dirty, grimy, moldy, disgusting hat on, praying I didn't get lice or something worse.

It fell over my eyes, which was a good and bad thing all at once. A good thing only because it blocked out the annoying stares, but I would have preferred to simply close my eyes. Now all of that dirt, grime, and disease was TOUCHING MY EYES! Now that I realize the hat can cover eyes as well, this leads to so many more possibilities for diseases such as pink eye and others I didn't even want to think about. What if it fell over a particularly small child's nose? A child that was sick? Their buggers could be in contact with my eyelids at this very minute! Ewwww! Oh, and the ear-infections! The hat must fall over ears too, like it does mine! I might get an ear infection, buggers, pink eye, or some disgusting viral-grime in my ears as well!

**Ahah, **

At this point, I lost all hope for my sanity. I supposed it would eventually come to this what with seeing dead people and all… but to have it happen at such a young age… but never-the-less, I realized I was hearing voices and that a trip to the crazy department of Saint Mungos would be my new home now in the not-so-distant future. I didn't want to live in a white padded room forever, but I at that point I figured it was my destiny…

**No no no, I'm the Sorting Hat child. There's no need to fear for your sanity. I just speak into your thoughts so that no one else can hear me…**

I sighed in relief.

**Hmmm. Difficult, very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see.**

'I'm an 11 year old boy! What did you expect?' I thought.

**Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes-**

'Well, I do see dead people, but I wouldn't call that _talent_ so much as _bad luck_ really.'

**I don't mean that…**

'Then what do you mean?'

…**and a nice thirst to prove yourself **it continued without answering the question. **Now that's interesting.**

'Not really, most kids want to prove themselves and please people to my knowledge, or at least their parents or other adult figures. It's a common trait amongst children.'

**So where shall I put you?**

I looked at Malfoy and figured that, if it were up to me, I might as well go into his rival house just to spite him.

'Gryffindor!'

**You know… you'd do well in Slytherin.**

That's it Malfoy, I know you feel a heart-attack coming over you. Don't let it slip away now, embrace it! Embrace your fate. EMBRACE IT! Just think, I was almost in your house. Repeat it into your mind until you feel the pleasant tingles of a heart-attack coming on… hehehe.

'OH DEAR GOD NO! You can't be that cruel. Please Mister Hat, anywhere but that god-awful house…'

**It's not nice to down-talk an entire group of students you know…**

'Yeah yeah yeah, I suppose the entire house can't be horrid, but I can't go in that house with that kid! I'll go insane! Insane I tell you! Do you want to be responsible for putting The-Boy-Who-Lived in St. Mungos? Please, make it Gryffindor!'

**Fine, fine… I wouldn't want you do go insane, although I might just be too late in that regard…** "GRYFFINDOR!"

And the crowd went wild… I received a bigger applause then most of the students before me, the Gryffindor table was the loudest of them all, and the red-head twins that helped me with my trunk onto the train screamed "We got Potter! We got Potter!" I rolled my eyes and sighed in annoyance.

"The name's THOMAS!" I shouted, but I didn't really think they heard me… Oh well…

I sat down next to Hermione Granger, the girl with the famous chocolate frog, in my opinion at least, and when Ron went into Gryffindor, he sat at my other side. I spoke to them both and congratulated Hermione for casting a cleaning spell on the hat and told her I wish I'd known it. Then, after the sorting, our Headmaster told us he had a seemingly important announcement to make.

"Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thankyou."

"Now what on Earth was the point of that? Oh dear, we're doomed, aren't we? Our Headmaster has completely lost his mind…" I said disappointedly.

"Well," spoke a pompous-looking red-head across from me. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes Harry?"

"No", I answered distantly "I saw a girl down there sneeze in it or something, I'd rather not. Oh, and call me Odd or Little odd please." Then I shook my head sadly. "I guess all those brains got to the poor Headmasters' head…" Several people looked at me for the strange phrase. I didn't see what was wrong with it. "In a manner of speaking…" Their gazes didn't change. "Is there something on my face?" They all looked away from with a slightly scared look on their face. "Oh well, **I** know I'm not insane…"

"Well Little Odd," Hermione started.

I smiled at her. "Ah, someone listened to me. Thank you Hermione!"

"You're welcome, but as I was saying, crazy people usually think they are perfectly sane. Do you know the old saying 'If you think you might be crazy, you aren't'?"

"Ah, yes, I don't suppose they do know, do they? No matter, I'm perfectly sane…"

Hermione just raised an eyebrow at me and kept eating.

"What do you think Ron?"

Ron looked up from his plate. "What? Oh, uh, the potatoes? Yeah, I'll stay clear of them, thanks for telling me someone sneezed in them!" He went back to eating.

"No, I meant…"

He looked back up at me with his mouth obviously bulging with food.

"Oh, never mind…"

He went back to eating.

After the meal and a hideous song so out of chorus to the point that if they were muggles, I'd consider entering the whole school into American Idle try-outs (they'd definitely make the bombers and give poor Simon hear failure), I was once again proven that the Headmaster must be quite mad after he informed us that if some poor sucker first year stumbled through the wrong door on the third floor corridor, they would die. Ah yes, what a lovely reassurance that the school is perfectly safe for a school of children to learn in. Thank you Headmaster…. That was sarcasm for those of you who didn't catch that. He also informed us that the Forbidden Forrest was in fact, shockingly forbidden! I wonder why? Again… that was sarcasm. Before I left to go to bed, I locked eyes with the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and felt a pain in my forehead.

"Hmmm, that's strange…"

"What is?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, nothing to worry about…"

This statement seemed to MAKE her worry, but I didn't think on the fact as I turned my head slightly to see a greasy-haired professor next to the DADA professor was glaring at me… Then I shrugged both things off, figuring that if I was soon to be locked in the dungeons with either or both of them to be tortured, I wouldn't be surprised. After all, strange things seem to always happen around me, well, my dad and I really, and that more unlikely situations have occurred in my life. I'd worry about it if the time came and there was no use on pondering on something that might not happen at all. I then wondered why they called the class DADA by that name instead of DAtDA, since it does indeed have the word 'the' in it.


End file.
